I Had a One-Night Stand With a Wealthy Stranger in the Hamptons
Truth be told, I'd been in a bit of a dating dry spell—and thus, by extension, a sexing one—for the past several months. And once it's been a minute, I tend to get a lot pickier. The longer it's been, the higher my standards. Still, I somehow had faith that the dating app gods would bring me the perfect beach date that day. Miraculously, they delivered—a fit, tan, early-50s daddy type who, as a 20-something with a thing for older guys, just so happened to be my type. Within just a few messages, he invited me out to his house in the Hamptons. This beach day had just gotten a lot more glamorous.
I quickly dolled up a bit more than I'd planned to (handsome, rich Hamptons man was no longer just some Tinder rando I was using for a beach day—this man had long-term potential and I was ready to bring my A-game), then hopped in the car he'd called to whisk me away from my apartment in Queens and off to his Southampton mansion, congratulating myself on pulling the last-minute beach plans of my dreams out of thin air.
Now, can I, in good conscience, recommend going to a strange man's house hours away from where you live on a first date? Probably not. But listen, when a hot, wealthy Hamptons homeowner invites you to come dick around his place in Southampton all day, you don't say no—especially if you haven't had sex in five months.
As we neared his high net-worth address, he texted me words I could only dream of one day dropping so casually: 'Just tell the driver the gates will open automatically.' Excuse me? Who was I and how had I suddenly swapped lives with the kind of person entrusted to say things like, The gates of this Hamptons mansion will open automatically, Jeeves?
Inside, the man of the house—who, by some act of God, actually looked like his profile photos—gave me a warm greeting, a chilled glass of rosé, and a jaw-dropping tour of the place. It was exactly the kind of sprawling, sun-drenched, floor-to-ceiling-windowed affair you'd imagine, except all the more stunning because I wasn't imagining it. For one day, if for one day only, this was my real life.
I felt at once wildly out of place and right at home—that confusing feeling of misplaced familiarity you get when you wake up from dreaming about a place you've never actually been to but are certain you've dreamed of before. I had a sudden, childlike urge to run through the halls and try to get lost—to play hide-and-seek with myself in this strange wonderland I'd stumbled into.
He kept the tour of his bedroom brief and rather pointedly unassuming. For a man who invited random women to his house on a first date, he was surprisingly gentlemanly in that regard. And maybe I was just delirious from the rosé or the all-around opulence, but I was beginning to feel a kind of misplaced familiarity for this man, too. I felt drawn to him in a sort of past-life way, as warm as it was thrilling. An hour and a few glasses of Whispering Angel later, when he finally placed his hands gently around the back of my head and kissed me, it was one of those, What if this is really something? kinds of kisses.
I spent the rest of the day in a glorious rosé haze, splashing around half-naked in his shimmering swimming pool. I'd ditched my red bikini top in a sudden stroke of uninhibited bliss, shamelessly showing off for him as he watched from the steps of the pool. Something about him and this alternate universe we were sharing seemed to bring out an almost childlike recklessness in me—carefree and self-indulgent.
'Can I suck your dick?' I asked in another stroke of reckless abandon, swimming up to where he sat on the steps.
'Like, right here?'
'Yeah,' I said. 'I wanna see if I can do it underwater.'
Reader, orally gifted though I may be, it turns out I cannot suck dick underwater and neither can you. Don't try this one at home.
I grabbed his hand and he joined me in the pool, laughing off our little subaquatic experiment as I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, feeling his already half-stiff cock harden against me. You may not be able to suck a guy off under water, but you can certainly turn him on down there.
'Freckles,' he said suddenly, placing a hand on my cheek.
'Oh yeah,' I said, feeling my gaze falter under the realization that the extra layer of glam I'd applied specifically for him had washed off in the pool.
'Never wear makeup again,' he whispered, leaning in and kissing me deeply but softly.
I grabbed his head and kissed him harder. 'I want you,' I said.
We got out of the pool and he wrapped me in a fluffy white towel, taking me inside and leading me by the hand back up to his bedroom. This time, I knew I'd be getting the full tour.
He laid me down on the massive bed and pulled off my wet bikini bottoms, kissing up my thighs before settling his face between my legs. I don't usually like it when guys immediately try to go down on me. It tends to feel a little, 'Let's get your orgasm out of the way so we can move on to more important things, like my orgasm.' But not this time. I got the sense this man genuinely wanted nothing more than me in his mouth.
His tongue on my clit and his finger expertly working a come-hither motion on just the right spot inside me, I could feel myself approaching what may have been the fastest partnered orgasm of my life…until his sex playlist got cut off by an ad, that is. Apparently a man can have a pool bigger than your entire apartment and still not spring for Spotify Premium.
Laughing, I motioned for him to tap out. I've done some ungodly things in bed in my day, but one thing I won't do is get eaten out to a Taco Bell commercial. He laughed, kissing me and letting me taste myself on his tongue.
'I want you inside me,' I murmured into his ear. And I did. Yes, the oral was top-notch, but I was long-overdue for a classic dicking down. And so dick me down he did—in the surprisingly tender, intimate way he did everything. Still turned on from my almost-orgasm moments before, I came quickly, easily, effortlessly, with his warm body on top of me and his hard cock throbbing away inside of me. Like everything else that day, it felt magic, delusional, too good to be true—like I had somehow stolen someone else's life and gotten away with it.
I couldn't get away with it forever, of course. A few hours later, our flawless summer day had faded into a slightly chilly summer night. And, just like Cinderella, it was time for me to leave the palace and return to the humble life waiting for me back in Queens. He put me in a car, kissed me goodbye, and muttered some vague pleasantries about getting together again soon, never to be seen or texted by again. I'd have thought I dreamed the whole thing if it weren't for a few photos I'd made him take of me topless and careless in his pool—photos I've held onto as proof that for one gorgeous, rosé-soaked day, I got to live (and fuck) like the rich.
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Boston Globe
19 hours ago
- Boston Globe
Their love thrived even under the demands of a medical resident's grueling schedule
Their love thrived even under the demands of a medical resident's grueling schedule Could a medical resident with a grueling schedule find time for love? During the fall of 2023, Grant Schleifer was booked and busy. Almost every morning, he'd bike 12 miles from his home in Newton Center to Charlestown. He'd work a long shift at Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital, where he was in the midst of his second year medical residency. Then he'd bike 12 miles back home. When he wasn't working, he was studying, sleeping, or occasionally, swiping on Tinder— even though his schedule made meeting up in person a near impossible task. Advertisement So when he realized he had an unplanned 'hour or two' window on a Friday night, he jumped on it. That crisp October evening, he met up with Nathan Alexander, who at the time lived in Porter Square. When they first matched on Tinder in September, Grant explained it might be a while before they could meet up. The couple invited close family and friends to gather at the Ether Monument in the Boston Public Garden for a 6 p.m. ceremony. They remember the park being quiet, and besides a few onlookers, the ceremony maintained its intimacy. Jeff Smith They chose Advertisement Nathan had wondered if their backgrounds would mesh. He is a manager for the cannabis dispensary Meanwhile Grant's 'run 27 marathons in 10 different countries,' says Nathan. 'I [had] never traveled out of the country before we met.' Nathan's close friend and former roommate Aaron Kaplowitz officiated the wedding ceremony. 'He was the first person I ever told about Grant,' says Nathan. 'After the date, I was like, 'Wow, I just met this amazing guy. I've got to lock this down.'' Pictured, Grant, Aaron, and Nathan with Grant's niece, Gabrielle, who served as the ring bearer during the ceremony. Provided Grant was raised in the Oklahoma City suburb of Edmond, the middle of three brothers. Their mother had quadriplegia, but that didn't deter family adventures. 'We'd pack the wheelchair in the back of the van and go to Florida or Vegas and all over the country,' Grant says. She passed away in 2015; her condition inspired his decision to pursue medicine, specifically rehabilitation and working with patients with spinal cord injuries. When backbar got too noisy, they continued to converse as they walked Union Square and discovered a somber shared life experience. Grant shared that he had lost his father, too, in 2018, just after he had moved to the area to attend Harvard Medical School. Nathan, who lost his father in 1999, helped Grant feel comfortable opening up. While both partners praised the other for providing support and comfort through food and flexibility, Nathan says gratitude is another layer that keeps the relationship strong. 'Grant's really assuring in saying how he feels and how he appreciates me,' says Nathan. '[He's] constantly saying 'thank you,' and 'Wow, this is amazing.' I really appreciate it.' Jeff Smith 'I felt like nobody else around me had gone through a similar thing,' says Grant, 'for Nathan to have undergone pretty much the same experience made me feel a good connection towards him.' Later that night, they shared a first kiss and parted ways, knowing, with Grant's schedule, it'd be a month before their second date. 'So I was just counting down the days until December,' says Nathan. Advertisement When Grant's schedule lightened, he moved to Assembly Row in Somerville. He invited Nathan over for dinner on his first available evening. The couple read the vows they had written off their phones during the ceremony. 'I went first and was extremely nervous and shaking,' says Nathan. 'I was speaking as quiet as a mouse and no one could hear me. But then at the end of the day, it wasn't for them, it was for Grant. And I got everything across that I wanted to say.' Jeff Smith Grant set out a candlelit dinner, with flickering tapers, and a sparkling city skyline that cast a glow in a dimly lit room— a meal that would become a tradition for them. He served salmon en papillote with a Tuscan red. The playlist was 'mostly '80s' and Madonna. Nathan remembers being taken aback, but pleased with the romantic gesture. 'I was like, 'This is all I need in my life,'' he says. 'And then he just kept doing it.' 'By the end of January, I knew I was in love with him,' says Grant. Candlelit dinners went on hiatus when Grant's schedule picked up that February — work weeks could be 80+ hours, and every four days, he worked a 28-hour shift. During the celebration at Grill 23, the couple mingled with family and friends after Grant gave a champagne toast. 'We wanted everyone to have a good time and eat good food, and make it super relaxed and chill,' says Nathan. For dessert, there were macarons and 'huge chocolate chip cookies that everybody loved,' alongside saucers of milk for dipping. Provided Nathan prepared nourishing meals — kale salads with pomegranate seeds and feta, gnocchi in roasted bell pepper sauce — packed in Pyrex with silverware and L.A. Burdick chocolate for dessert. When time allowed, he'd join Grant in the MGH atrium, during the scant half-hour or so the doctor would be able to steal away for dinner. Related : 'I think I only missed one [of Grant's long shifts] because I had to close at work that night,' says Nathan. In April, they visited friends in the English Cotswolds. In September, they hiked in the French Alps. They moved in together that month. And on a January 2025 trip to Washington, D.C., Grant took a knee as they posed for a photo at the Jefferson Memorial. 'It took him about eight or nine seconds to realize that it wasn't a joke,' Grant says. But as the 10-second camera timer went off, he proposed. Advertisement When asked in June if the candlelight dinners are still a tradition in the relationship, they replied: 'Yeah, we still do it to this day,' says Grant. 'There was one last night.' Pictured: Grant proposed at the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, D.C., in January. Provided 'Nathan is so special, and so unique, I knew I could make that commitment to him.... I didn't feel like I needed to wait several years before making it official.' On May 24, Nathan, 30, and Grant, 31, married in an early evening ceremony at the Boston Public Garden. Before the wedding, Nathan and his family prepped vases with white roses and hydrangeas, purple bachelor buttons, and eucalyptus. His parents gifted the couple a portrait of the two, drawn with pastels, that they had commissioned. Grant had a morning shift on their wedding day, during which he worked with patients with spinal cord injuries. It provided a moment before the ceremony to remember to his mother: 'They were the right people for me to be around,' he says. The newlyweds (center) with their families at their Public Garden ceremony. After they wed, Nathan took Grant's last name. From left: Nathan's sister Kristen Bergner, and parents, Tracy and Jeff Smith; Grant and Nathan Schleifer; Grant's brother-in-law and sister, Leo and Jamie Hernandez, and their daughter, Gabrielle. Provided Around 6 p.m., Nathan's former roommate Aaron Kaplowitz officiated while their 35 guests formed a semi-circle at the Ether Monument, which stands in the northwest corner of the Public Garden. The statue is a dedication to the invention of anesthetic, a nod to Grant's medical background. The grooms made good use of their existing wardrobes — suiting from Isaia, shoes by Tom Ford and Ferragamo. 'Luckily Nathan and I are the same size,' says Grant. Afterwards, the group went to Grill 23, where the newlyweds had booked a private room for steaks, lobster rolls, and champagne. Their favorite songs hummed in the background — Judy, Shania, Dolly, et al. — and guests received L.A. Burdick's dark chocolate mice with navy ribbons featuring Nathan and Grant's names. Following the wedding, the couple — pictured with family and friends who attended their reception at Grill 23 — spent their two-week honeymoon touring Italy, starting in Venice. 'Then we went to Florence and Pisa, Siena and Montaione, and then this place in the Chianti Valley, and then finished up in Rome." Provided The afterparty was at Advertisement And revelry carried on at the Liberty Hotel — even after the grooms had gone home around midnight. 'People came from Nebraska, and Florida, New Jersey, New York, Oklahoma,' says Grant. 'We had people who probably never had any reason to meet each other, but they enjoyed each other so much that they went out afterwards to hang out some more.' Read more from , The Boston Globe's new weddings column. Rachel Kim Raczka is a writer and editor in Boston. She can be reached at
Cosmopolitan
a day ago
- Cosmopolitan
The Hottest Summer Love Stories We've Ever Published
Hello and welcome to the hottest time of the year. That's right, it's finally summer—we made it! And what do you do when the weather gets warmer, the nights get longer, and the clothes get skimpier? That's right: You head directly to the Hamptons for a spontaneous, one-day affair to remember with a wealthy stranger in his seaside mansion, accidentally fall for your best friend's dad on summer vacation in Spain, and—of course—spend an entire weekend getting over your ex-boyfriend by getting under a hot Australian lifeguard. Or that's how some of your favorite Cosmo writers have done it, anyway. If you're a fan of ours, then chances are you're also a fan of Confessay—our personal essay series where real folks like yourself share the hottest, completely true stories of their real-life sexual encounters in intimate detail. And while there's a Confessay for all seasons, there's just something about a sultry summertime romance that hits different. For your entertainment (and inspiration) as we slide into this, the steamiest of seasons, here are the hottest tales of summer love we've ever published, ranked. If you weren't sweating already, these stories will definitely have you cranking up the AC—and, of course, adding a few new items to your summer bucket list. 'Take a picture of me,' I said, my knees nearly touching the dusty ground of the alleyway. It was June, a hot and humid summer in the South of France, and I was kneeling in front of a French man I had met less than six hours earlier. 'C'mon, take a picture of me,' I smiled, balancing on the balls of my feet with my skirt hiked up my legs, looking longingly up at him as I felt his body give way to me. He hesitated a little. 'Are you sure?' he asked. 'Yes, I'm sure,' I said with a longing stare. He paused but not so long that I became impatient. I started like this: teasing him with my fingers, his grey boxers between my skin and his, feeling his hardness push against them. Pulling them down slowly and then all at once, I could hear his breathing change as my lips came into contact with his thighs. He smelled like aftershave, the five cigarettes he'd smoked on the beach, and the subtle scent that summer leaves on your skin…. Read It! It was a flawless summer day and I was going to the beach. Did I have any plans to go to the beach? Absolutely none. But being a modern woman of the world—or at least a woman with access to dating apps—I didn't see any reason I couldn't Tinder some up. I threw on a bikini and got to swiping for the lucky rando who would have the honor of escorting me to the coast that day. Truth be told, I'd been in a bit of a dating dry spell—and thus, by extension, a sexing one—for the past several months. And the longer it's been, the higher my standards. Still, I somehow had faith that the dating app gods would bring me the perfect beach date that day. Miraculously, they delivered—a fit, tan, early-50s daddy type who, as a 20-something with a thing for older guys, just so happened to be my type. Within just a few messages, he invited me out to his house in the Hamptons. This beach day had just gotten a lot more glamorous…. Read it! 'Hey, I don't mean to bother you but, uh, you were the girl doing cartwheels earlier, right?' some handsome guy asked, taking off his sunglasses to look me in the eye. Yes, yes I was the 30-year-old woman in a red G-string bikini doing gymnastics on the beach. What can I say? I'm old enough to know what not to do and young enough to get away with it. I closed my journal and gave him a once over. Fit! This could be fun, I thought. So even though I'd planned for my solo beach day to be about healing my inner child (per my therapist) and getting sexy tan lines (per my OnlyFans), I decided to go off script and indulge with Matt*. We vibed right away—flirting about psychedelics and love languages—and exchanged socials before going our separate ways. A few hours later, Matt slid into my DMs, showing me a present he had for me: a black Vixen thong bikini. He told me he loved buying merch from sex-worker-owned companies and I couldn't help but giggle—he had no idea he was talking to a sex worker in the flesh…. Read it! For many Americans, the Fourth of July is a day of hot dogs and pyrotechnics. And for me, one fateful Independence Day about five years ago, it was also a day for metaphorical fireworks—in the form of one of the best public quickies I've ever had. Hanging with my friends in the park as we waited for the first colorful boom to flash above us, a redheaded hottie caught my eye—killer smile in a blue flannel shirt, freckles dusted beautifully across the bridge of his nose, and eyes so deep blue, they almost looked brown in the fading light. I tried desperately not to stare, but he must have felt my gaze—within moments, he broke from his conversation and looked right over at me. Embarrassed to be caught ogling, I quickly looked away. But mere seconds later, I checked over to see if I had thrown him off. Nope: He locked eyes with me and gave me a little mischievous smile. My heart started racing; I felt like I was in trouble—but the good kind of trouble. And damn if I wasn't game to see just how much trouble we could get into together…. Read it! When my long-distance bestie, Maria*, invited me to come spend my summer break with her at her dad's place in Granada, I booked the budget airline tickets and landed in Spain sooner than you could say hasta luego. After we caught up on the drive home from the airport, Maria introduced me to her dad, Marco*. When she'd mentioned her dad previously, I'd always imagined a beer belly and receding hairline (not that there's anything wrong with a dad bod). But Marco had the physique of a Hemsworth brother with a strong jawline and muscles practically bulging through his shirt. He was probably in his mid-40s and had the same dark curls and chocolate eyes as Maria, but stood a foot taller at 6'3" and flaunted a deeper tan. The flecks of gray peppered throughout his hair and the smile lines around his eyes just made him look even sexier. As a serial dater of guys my age, I hadn't really understood the appeal of older men until that exact moment…. A few years ago, when my beach lifeguard best friend suggested I come down to visit her at the guard house to take my mind off a recent breakup, I jumped at the opportunity. 'Just get in the car now and come down for the weekend,' Megan* told me over the phone. 'There are, like, a million hot Australian men here.' Soon enough, there I was, in a seaside bar surrounded by tons of hot Australian men…and one very hot Australian woman. Alex* had long, blonde wavy hair, sun-kissed skin, impressively toned arms and legs, and that warm, endearing Aussie accent. I couldn't stop staring at her sky-blue eyes. At one point, her hand 'accidentally' brushed against the inside of my upper thigh, and I knew in that instant I wouldn't be bothering with any boys that weekend. When we got to the beach, everyone flung their clothes in the dunes before running to the ocean. I snuck a glance at Alex's tits, which were alarmingly perfect: somehow huge and perky at the same time. I grabbed her hand tightly as we ran into the freezing-cold water, diving under moonlit waves to swim farther out from where the rest of the group was floating…. Read it! *Name has been changed.
Cosmopolitan
a day ago
- Cosmopolitan
I Had a One-Night Stand With a Wealthy Stranger in the Hamptons
It was a flawless summer day and I was going to the beach. Did I have any plans to go to the beach? Absolutely none. But, being a modern woman of the world—or at least a woman with access to dating apps—I didn't see any reason I couldn't Tinder some up. I threw on a bikini and got to swiping for the lucky random who would have the honor of escorting me to the coast that day. Truth be told, I'd been in a bit of a dating dry spell—and thus, by extension, a sexing one—for the past several months. And once it's been a minute, I tend to get a lot pickier. The longer it's been, the higher my standards. Still, I somehow had faith that the dating app gods would bring me the perfect beach date that day. Miraculously, they delivered—a fit, tan, early-50s daddy type who, as a 20-something with a thing for older guys, just so happened to be my type. Within just a few messages, he invited me out to his house in the Hamptons. This beach day had just gotten a lot more glamorous. I quickly dolled up a bit more than I'd planned to (handsome, rich Hamptons man was no longer just some Tinder rando I was using for a beach day—this man had long-term potential and I was ready to bring my A-game), then hopped in the car he'd called to whisk me away from my apartment in Queens and off to his Southampton mansion, congratulating myself on pulling the last-minute beach plans of my dreams out of thin air. Now, can I, in good conscience, recommend going to a strange man's house hours away from where you live on a first date? Probably not. But listen, when a hot, wealthy Hamptons homeowner invites you to come dick around his place in Southampton all day, you don't say no—especially if you haven't had sex in five months. As we neared his high net-worth address, he texted me words I could only dream of one day dropping so casually: 'Just tell the driver the gates will open automatically.' Excuse me? Who was I and how had I suddenly swapped lives with the kind of person entrusted to say things like, The gates of this Hamptons mansion will open automatically, Jeeves? Inside, the man of the house—who, by some act of God, actually looked like his profile photos—gave me a warm greeting, a chilled glass of rosé, and a jaw-dropping tour of the place. It was exactly the kind of sprawling, sun-drenched, floor-to-ceiling-windowed affair you'd imagine, except all the more stunning because I wasn't imagining it. For one day, if for one day only, this was my real life. I felt at once wildly out of place and right at home—that confusing feeling of misplaced familiarity you get when you wake up from dreaming about a place you've never actually been to but are certain you've dreamed of before. I had a sudden, childlike urge to run through the halls and try to get lost—to play hide-and-seek with myself in this strange wonderland I'd stumbled into. He kept the tour of his bedroom brief and rather pointedly unassuming. For a man who invited random women to his house on a first date, he was surprisingly gentlemanly in that regard. And maybe I was just delirious from the rosé or the all-around opulence, but I was beginning to feel a kind of misplaced familiarity for this man, too. I felt drawn to him in a sort of past-life way, as warm as it was thrilling. An hour and a few glasses of Whispering Angel later, when he finally placed his hands gently around the back of my head and kissed me, it was one of those, What if this is really something? kinds of kisses. I spent the rest of the day in a glorious rosé haze, splashing around half-naked in his shimmering swimming pool. I'd ditched my red bikini top in a sudden stroke of uninhibited bliss, shamelessly showing off for him as he watched from the steps of the pool. Something about him and this alternate universe we were sharing seemed to bring out an almost childlike recklessness in me—carefree and self-indulgent. 'Can I suck your dick?' I asked in another stroke of reckless abandon, swimming up to where he sat on the steps. 'Like, right here?' 'Yeah,' I said. 'I wanna see if I can do it underwater.' Reader, orally gifted though I may be, it turns out I cannot suck dick underwater and neither can you. Don't try this one at home. I grabbed his hand and he joined me in the pool, laughing off our little subaquatic experiment as I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, feeling his already half-stiff cock harden against me. You may not be able to suck a guy off under water, but you can certainly turn him on down there. 'Freckles,' he said suddenly, placing a hand on my cheek. 'Oh yeah,' I said, feeling my gaze falter under the realization that the extra layer of glam I'd applied specifically for him had washed off in the pool. 'Never wear makeup again,' he whispered, leaning in and kissing me deeply but softly. I grabbed his head and kissed him harder. 'I want you,' I said. We got out of the pool and he wrapped me in a fluffy white towel, taking me inside and leading me by the hand back up to his bedroom. This time, I knew I'd be getting the full tour. He laid me down on the massive bed and pulled off my wet bikini bottoms, kissing up my thighs before settling his face between my legs. I don't usually like it when guys immediately try to go down on me. It tends to feel a little, 'Let's get your orgasm out of the way so we can move on to more important things, like my orgasm.' But not this time. I got the sense this man genuinely wanted nothing more than me in his mouth. His tongue on my clit and his finger expertly working a come-hither motion on just the right spot inside me, I could feel myself approaching what may have been the fastest partnered orgasm of my life…until his sex playlist got cut off by an ad, that is. Apparently a man can have a pool bigger than your entire apartment and still not spring for Spotify Premium. Laughing, I motioned for him to tap out. I've done some ungodly things in bed in my day, but one thing I won't do is get eaten out to a Taco Bell commercial. He laughed, kissing me and letting me taste myself on his tongue. 'I want you inside me,' I murmured into his ear. And I did. Yes, the oral was top-notch, but I was long-overdue for a classic dicking down. And so dick me down he did—in the surprisingly tender, intimate way he did everything. Still turned on from my almost-orgasm moments before, I came quickly, easily, effortlessly, with his warm body on top of me and his hard cock throbbing away inside of me. Like everything else that day, it felt magic, delusional, too good to be true—like I had somehow stolen someone else's life and gotten away with it. I couldn't get away with it forever, of course. A few hours later, our flawless summer day had faded into a slightly chilly summer night. And, just like Cinderella, it was time for me to leave the palace and return to the humble life waiting for me back in Queens. He put me in a car, kissed me goodbye, and muttered some vague pleasantries about getting together again soon, never to be seen or texted by again. I'd have thought I dreamed the whole thing if it weren't for a few photos I'd made him take of me topless and careless in his pool—photos I've held onto as proof that for one gorgeous, rosé-soaked day, I got to live (and fuck) like the rich.
